Welcome to the sweet small town of Blink, Maine, a town so tiny, it hardly ranks a dot on the map. Thankfully for Lillian Mahoney, Blink is as warm as the people in the tiny coastal town…well, all except for one: grumpy local Caleb Wright. So how does she end up as Caleb’s employee?
Marissa Clarke is a multi award-winning, RITA® nominated author of romance for adults and teens. She lives on an island in the middle of a river. Seriously, she does. When not writing, she wrangles her rowdy pack of three teens, two Cairn Terriers, and one husband.
Inexplicably, her favorite animal is the giant anteater and at one point, she had over 200 “pet” Madagascar Hissing Cockroaches. The roaches are a long story involving three science-crazed kids and a soft spot for rescue animals. The good news is, the “pet” roaches found a home… somewhere else.
She also writes young adult novels as Mary Lindsey for Penguin USA. www.marylindsey.com. She loves to connect with readers and can be found at www.marissaclarke.com and on Twitter at @MaryL_MarissaC
For sneak peeks at upcoming projects and chances to win prizes, join her Facebook street team group, Camp Clarke: www.facebook.com/groups/CampClarke/
To receive updates and insider information on Marissa’s upcoming books, subscribe here: www.tinyurl.com/marissanews
Title: Mimic Author: C.L. Denault Series: The Prodigy Chronicles #2 Genre: Young Adult, Science Fiction Romance
Three simple rules. One secret skill. Let the game continue.
In 2012, one cycle of an ancient calendar system came to a close. Humanity predicted its downfall, but it wasn’t the end of their evolutionary climb. It was the beginning.
Willow Kent is discovering that life as a second-phase prodigy comes at a price. Trapped in the London Core, her choices are limited, made difficult by her forbidden romance with Reece and the presence of a new commanding officer who establishes harsh rules. With unpredictable skills and a growing distrust in her birth parents, she is struggling to play the Core’s game. But when opportunity arises in the form of a mysterious shapeshifter, Willow realizes there’s more to her own evolution than meets the eye. She soon learns that keeping secrets is a key move, and the more dangerous they are, the greater her need to evolve into the powerful prodigy nature intended her to become.
But those closest to her have their own secrets, and her status has made her an easy target for betrayal. Who will she turn to…when nothing is as it seems?
Mimic is the second book in The Prodigy Chronicles, a Hunger Games meets X-Men dystopian romance series about a young girl struggling to control her immense powers and find her place in a city filled with enemies.
The blow shouldn’t have stunned me. I’d grown up in a tavern, defending myself, and had spent plenty of time training with Kane and Tem. I knew how to take a hit.
This was more than a hit. Kristoffe’s swing was fast and brutal, with a force behind it that rivaled my own—enough to knock me off my feet and send me flying down the hall.
Sensations took over. There was the feel of backward motion. Loss of control as my body hit the floor. More motion from sliding, and the hot sting of my flesh scraping tile. Ceiling lights blurred into white lines. Pain throbbed in my cheek.
But it was the tightness in my throat that hurt most. The tiger clawed like mad as we slid. Her screams pierced the fog in my brain, parting it, carving out a path. If I didn’t stop her, she would use it to climb up and take control.
Let me in!
I managed to shake my head.
You need me!
“No,” I whimpered, bumping into the limp body of an elevator guard. One of his arms stopped me, and I sat up quickly, recoiling. He was spread-eagled, face down among his comrades, his fingers wrapped around a retinal scanner. I cringed. Was he dead? Had the tiger killed them all? Then my eyes fell on the laser resting at his hip.
Take it.
I couldn’t. I’d never fired one before.
He’ll kill us!
Not sure who she meant, I jerked my head around. The man with the sabre was still gone. But Kristoffe and his patrol were marching in my direction, dragging Toby with them. He struggled violently until one of them drove a fist into his stomach. A savage tug tore through my belly. Gasping, I leaned over, fumbling for the guard’s laser.
“I wouldn’t do that if I were you.” Kristoffe signaled for his men to stop, but continued walking toward me. He didn’t waver, not even when I grasped the laser in both hands and aimed it at him.
“That’s far enough,” I said.
He kept coming.
“I’ll shoot.” My finger instinctively hugged the trigger. “I mean it.”
Spreading his arms, Kristoffe made a target out of his broad chest. His smile was icy. “Go ahead, then. Shoot.”
Was he bluffing? I couldn’t tell. He might have a defensive shield. On the other hand, he might go down with one shot. There was no way to know. But somehow, he’d survived the tiger. This laser was my only hope.
Do it, the tiger spat.
My pulse spiked. “I will shoot.”
He kept coming.
Shoot him!
“Stop,” I cried, my hands shaking.
But he didn’t stop, and the closer he came, the harder I choked on the tiger’s fury. Her strength was more than I could handle. He was only a few feet away when her hissing cry forced me to pull the trigger. A matching cry left my lips. The laser clicked, shuddered—
C.L. Denault is a speculative fiction writer who loves dreaming up tales of adventure and intrigue. A former systems analyst, she gave up her nerdy code-writing skills to care for her family (including a son with special needs) and currently lives among the vast stretches of cornfields in Illinois.
Writing and working out are her biggest passions, along with coffee and sci-fi. When she’s not hanging out with her husband and kids, she can usually be found at a library or tucked away in the shadowy corner of a hip coffeehouse. She’s also been glimpsed sneaking into her garage, late at night, to work on her time machine.
She enjoys connecting with people—especially those from other planets, nearby dimensions, and the future. To find her, just visit her website or social media pages. Or use a Stargate. Whichever is easiest.
For months I stood by, an understudy waiting in the wings, preparing for my time to shine.
I never imagined he would watch in the audience that night.
Canon Holt.
Famous film director.
Fascinating. Talented. Fine.
Before I could catch my breath, everything changed.
I went from backstage Broadway to center stage Hollywood.
From being unknown, to my name, Neevah Saint, on everyone’s lips.
Canon casts me in a star-studded Harlem Renaissance biopic, catapulting me into another stratosphere.
But stars shine brightest in the dead of night.
Forbidden attraction, scandal and circumstances beyond my control jeopardize my dream. Could this one shot—the role of a lifetime, the love of a lifetime—cost me everything?
It’s a guttural command. He bends me over the arm of the couch, and my hands hit the cushion for support, to steady myself. At the sound of the condom tearing, my inner muscles contract, bracing for him. He spreads my cheeks and, slipping his whole hand between my legs, cups the trembling flesh. I’m unprepared for the swipe of his tongue. For the subtle abrasion of his beard scraping the inner skin of my thighs. For the sound of him eating me. I push back against his face, helpless, no shame. Digging my nails into the cushions, I widen my legs to give me more, to take more for myself. He grips my thighs, holding me steady for his devouring mouth until, with a sob that sails over the rooftop, over the city, I contract around his delving tongue. The orgasm hits hard, tightening the muscles in my thighs and calves. With staccato breaths, I bury my face in the couch, biting my lip to the point of pain.
“Canon,” I beg. “Stop teasing me and—”
He shoves in, and the words tumble back down my throat, recessing into the shock of this pleasure.
“Jesus.” Need shreds my voice to ribbons.
He coasts his hand up my back, gently cuffs my neck. Ass in the air, I rise up on my toes, begging for breath, petitioning for more dick. He gives it to me, pushing impossibly deeper.
“So damn good,” he grunts behind me.
I hope I never get over how perfect he feels inside me, like I was molded to his specifications. Shaped for his dimensions. I moan and reach my hand back to pull at one of my cheeks, widening the way for his cock. It feels like he goes where no dick has gone before, deeper, better. Somehow I feel each thrust in my heart. His every touch plays on my emotions, and tears sting my eyes. His hand tightens at my hip, and he slides the other hand up my arm, finds my hand on the couch and laces our fingers together. He sets a frenetic pace that sends the blood singing through my body again. The cushion absorbs my scream as I come, and I punish the soft cotton with clawing nails. With his voice strangled, his fingers fisted in my hair, he comes.
Collapsing against my back, a heavy, happy burden, his breath stilted and warm at my neck, he snakes one muscled arm around my middle, clutching me. After the urgent, feral coupling, it’s a cherishing hold. I cross my arm over his at my waist and tangle our fingers. It’s fragile and sweet, this moment, like flakes of sugar disintegrating on your tongue when you’ve barely had time to taste.
A USA Today and Wall Street Journal bestselling author, Kennedy Ryan and her writings have been featured in Chicken Soup for the Soul, USA Today, Entertainment Weekly, Glamour, Cosmo, TIME, O Mag and many others. A RITA® Award winner, Kennedy writes empowered women from all walks of life and centers those who have found themselves perennially on the margins of traditional storytelling.
Her Hoops Series (Long Shot, Block Shot and Hook Shot) and All the King’s Men Series (The Kingmaker, The Rebel King and Queen Move) have been optioned for television. An autism mom, Kennedy co-founded LIFT 4 Autism, an annual charitable initiative, and has appeared on Headline News, Montel Williams, NPR and other media outlets as an advocate for autism families. She is a wife to her lifetime lover and mother to an extraordinary son.
